


She rises

by JaqofSpades



Category: Veronica Mars (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-20
Updated: 2013-03-20
Packaged: 2017-12-05 21:16:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/728019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaqofSpades/pseuds/JaqofSpades
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"out of the ash I rise with my red hair and I eat men like air"</p>
            </blockquote>





	She rises

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Totally Impromptu Veronica Mars Comment ficathon on LJ, to a prompt by fluffly frolicker. Set immediately after the S3 finale.

She’s soaked through. She wants to believe the rain will wash her soul clean, but it just leaves her wet and cold, and dead inside.

She hates the smell of vodka, but it has no taste, and she could get used to the way it blurs the edges. Until you wake up in hotel room with your ex-boyfriend, and twelve frantic texts from the guy you’re supposed to be with. There’s nothing from her Dad, though, so she switches off her phone and climbs back on top of Logan. He’s not her worst mistake any more, and the dazed look on his face takes away the pain for a while.

But reality pounces all too soon, the morning talk show blaring through the wall with its talk of Van Lowe’s victory and her father’s arrest. She can hide from it all, drown it out with sex and booze and bad choices, or she can opt for door number two.

“Bye, Logan,” she says, and when he just smirks at her, totally missing the finality of it all, she knows he can’t read her any more. Piz never could, so she writes him an email, sweet and apologetic and all the things she’s not.

She takes the PCH north, because she needs the challenge of the coastal road to stop her thinking. Backup is chewing up the backseat by the time they get to Avila Beach, so that’s where they stop for the night. She’s buying dog chow and two-minute noodles when her hand lands on the box of dye, and the need to be someone else rushes up to choke her. 

Come Stanford, she’s a redhead, and when she walks into her first class, even the professor stops talking.

“And who might you be, halfway through the year and ten minutes late to my lecture?” he asks. She wants to tell him he’s ogling, but she chose this dress for a reason, and it’s par for the course now.

“Veronica. Veronica Mars,” she purrs, crossing her legs as she slides into the front row seat.

(They’re so busy watching her, no one sees a goddamn thing.)


End file.
